
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4517103.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Sam_Winchester/Original_Male_Character(s)
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester, John_Winchester, Original_Male_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Weecest, Wincest_-_Freeform, Extremely_Dubious_Consent, Underage
      Prostitution, Underage_Sex, Hurt_No_Comfort, Angst, Sick_Dean_Winchester,
      Hurt_Sam_Winchester, Bottom_Sam, let_me_know_if_I_need_more_tags, Kinda
      Hooker_Sam, Protective_Dean_Winchester, Crying_Sam_Winchester, Mild_Hurt/
      Comfort
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-07 Completed: 2015-08-29 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 7295
****** What Do You Do For Money Honey? ******
by gothpandaotaku
Summary
     Sam will do anything for Dean. Anything.
     Even sell himself.
Notes
     Been wanting to write this for a while. Just finally got around to
     it.
     DISCLAIMER: DO NOT OWN ANYYYYYYTHING.
     Remember, this is WEECEST. EXTREMELY DUB CON. Underage. Angst. YOU
     HAVE BEEN WARNED.
     That being said, I hope you like it!
***** Chapter 1 *****
                      You workin' in bars ridin' in cars
                         Never gonna give it for free
                Your apartment with a view on the finest avenue
                      Lookin' at your beat on the street
            You're always pushin', shovin', satisfied with nothing
                       You bitch you must be gettin' old
                         So stop your life on the road
                           All your diggin' for gold
                              You make me wonder
                                 Yes I wonder
                                   I wonder
                        Honey, what do you do for money
                        Honey, what do you do for money
                          Where do you get your kicks
                  -“What Do You Do For Money Honey” by AC/DC
===============================================================================
                                        
“Take care of your brother Sam.”
“But Dad-”
“I’ll only be gone a few days. You can handle things for that long, can’t you?”
“…Yes sir.”
“Good. See you soon, Sammy.”
And just like that, Sam was left alone with his injured brother for God knows
how long. He had no confidence his father would be back when he said he would;
he had a bad habit of taking longer than expected.
Two days ago they’d been on a hunt in Wisconsin. Typical werewolf hunt that
should’ve been easy with all the intel they had on the sucker. But of course,
Dean had to make it fucking complicated by jumping in front of the damn thing
when it leapt at Sam. Bastard had sustained twenty-some stitches in his abdomen
and still tried to joke that he was “a motherfucking ninja, Sammy.”
Their dad had gotten wind of another hunt in Ohio, so the second Dean was sewn
up he packed them up in the Impala and, not wanting to leave Dean alone when
injured that badly, left them at the usual shitty motel to go hunt it himself. 
It was all so predictable Sam wanted to scream.
But it was his fault Dean was hurt anyway, so he couldn’t complain about being
left behind to take care of him. He’d do it anyway.
Dean was pumped full of pain meds at the moment and probably wouldn’t wake up
until the next day anyway. So Sam pulled up a chair next to where his brother
lay on the single bed in the room, and settled in to wait.
===============================================================================
 
TWO DAYS LATER
Dean had woken up a few times, but he was barely lucid when he did so. He
occasionally mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “Sammy” and “ya
‘kay?” Sam lulled him back to sleep with reassurances like “I’m fine, Dean.
You’re the one who had to get sewn back together you idiot,” and “We’re safe,
you can go back to sleep now,” while running his fingers through Dean’s short
spiky hair (that was starting to feel a little greasy and he really hoped Dean
would wake up before he had to venture to sponge bath territory).
He lifted up Dean’s shirt to take a look at how the multitude of stitches were
doing. They looked pretty red and puffy, so he cleaned them again, wincing when
Dean moaned in pain in his sleep. The pain meds were running low; they had to
be frugal with them.
===============================================================================
 
ONE WEEK LATER
Nine days. Their dad had been gone nine fucking days and still no word on when
he’d be back. Not even a fucking call to say “I’m not dead.” The bastard didn’t
answer his phone no matter how many times Sam tried.
The money John had left them ran out two days ago, and the pain medication last
night. The meager supply of food they had was rapidly dwindling, even with Sam
only eating one meal a day.
Sam grimaced as he wiped the sheen of sweat off Dean’s face with a cool damp
washcloth. Dean’s fever had spiked a couple days ago and he hadn’t woken up
since. The wound had gone from puffy and inflamed to oozing pus and painful
just to look at, seemingly overnight. No matter how many times he cleaned it
out with the antiseptic from the first-aid kit, nothing helped. The wound was
simply infected and Dean needed antibiotics; the over-the-counter shit wasn’t
going to cut it either.
He needed money, and he needed it yesterday.
But how was he going to pay for Dean’s medication? He might be able to fake a
prescription, but there was no way he could actually afford it. Getting a job
would take too long, and any place that would hire a fifteen-year-old wouldn’t
pay that well anyway. The quickest option would probably be to steal it…
Next time their father decided to take off with their fake credit cards and
fake insurance card Sam was going to have words with him.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The local hospital was pretty small, a glorified clinic really, so at first Sam
thought he could be in and out, no problem.
He circled around the building, hidden by shadows and overgrown bushes. There
were two guards stationed outside the front entrance and another two at the
back exit. He found a tree just outside the guard’s view that had a perfect
view inside the front of the building and climbed it. A quick glance showed at
least two more guards near the nurse’s station.
They’re in the middle of bumfuck, Ohio, why the fuck where there so many
security guards? What is this, the White House?
A couple guards, sure, he could probably give them the slip. Maybe even three
or four. But six, with the likely possibility of more? With the medication
surely under lock and key? That was a risk he couldn’t take, not with Dean
depending on him. If he fucked up again and got caught, who would take care of
him? Not their dad, that was for sure.
Disgusted, Sam shuffled down the tree and made for the motel.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
“Hey kid, watch where you’re fucking going.”
Sam turned and scowled at the man he’d just bumped into. “Excuse me, I think
youbumped into me.”
“Listen, smartass—Sam?”
The man took a couple steps toward him, into the yellow light of a street lamp.
He appeared middle-aged, fit, with a scruffy beard; all-in-all exactly the kind
of guy you’d expect skulking around alleys at one in the morning.
“Morgan?”
“Come on Sammy, you’re a growing boy, you gotta eat all your food,” Dean
grinned at him from across the booth.
“But Deeean,” Sam whined, “I’m not hungry. I just want to get out of here and
meet up with Dad already.”
They were stuck in the middle of Nowhere, Ohio, waiting for their father to
give them the go-ahead to meet up with him on the next hunt in Michigan. Most
schools started in two weeks, and Sam wanted to be sure he was enrolled
somewherein time.
“Sam, I’m serious. When was the last time you cleared your plate?” They were in
a freaking Denny’s and Dean wanted to have this conversation now?
“It’s nothing. Can we just get the check and go?”
“But-”
“Dean.” Sam levelled his gaze at his brother and made sure to add a dash of the
puppy eyes he knew his brother couldn’t resist.
Dean sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk about this later. I’m going to hit the head and
then pay the bill and we’ll be out of here.”
Sam watched his brother leave and gave a sigh of relief when he was out of
sight. He loved his brother for caring so much, he really did (and that was the
fucking problem right?), but sometimes Dean could be just a tad pigheaded when
it came to what he thought was best for Sam.
“You’re Sam Winchester, John’s son, right?”
Sam looked up to see a tall middle-aged man he’d never lain eyes on before
approach his table, dressed in clothes that were casual, but subtly hinted at
designer origins. “Who’s asking?” Sam asked wearily.
“Oh, I’m sorry, please excuse my terrible manners,” the man made an exaggerated
horrified expression, “I’m Morgan Hilcox, a friend of your father’s. I give him
a hand when he needs medical supplies due to his, uh, unusual profession.”
The youngest Winchester blinked. Did this man know about Hunters? Was that what
he was trying to convey? Morgan winked at him and held out a hand to shake. Sam
hesitated only a second before taking it. Morgan’s fingers practically caressed
his own in a way that made his skin scrawl for the one second that it took Dean
to shove Morgan out of the way.
“Don’t touch my brother,” Dean hissed, fixing a glare so piercing on Morgan
that lesser men would be brought to their knees. He turned to Sam. “Let’s go.
NOW.”
“But Dean-” Sam looked up at Morgan, who appeared more amused than anything.
“NOW, Sam.” Dean reached into the booth and forcefully grabbed Sam’s arm and
pulled him out of the booth. He didn’t let go of Sam until he was shoved into
the passenger seat of the Impala, safe and sound.
“Dean, what the hell was that about? Who was that man? He said he knows Dad…”
Sam bombarded Dean with questions the second he climbed behind the wheel.
“He sells medical supplies and junk to Dad for a good price and doesn’t ask any
questions. No fuckin’ idea if he knows about what’s really out there.” For the
first time Sam noticed how tense his brother was. His fingers were locked
around the steering wheel in a death grip so tight his knuckles were white as
he careened out of the parking lot probably ten times faster than was safe.
“I’m going to say this once, Sammy: don’t go near him. Don’t talk to him. Don’t
look at him. Don’t go near him with a fucking ten foot pole; don’t even be in
the same godforsaken town as him. And most importantly, don’t ever be alone
with him. Ever.You understand me?”
Honestly, Dean’s tone and the intensity of his gaze kind of scared Sam. But he
trusted his brother implicitly and would do anything he said. Anything for
Dean. “Of course. Whatever you say.”
Some of the tension left Dean’s shoulders. “Good. That’s good. Don’t ever
forget that.”
Dean watched Sam like a hawk the rest of the time they were in town.
“So you doremember me,” Morgan smiled brightly, but it didn’t quite reach his
eyes.
“Uh, yeah, look, I have to meet up with my Dad right now, so…” Sam turned to
leave, but only made it a few steps.
“How’s your brother doing? I heard he was lain up in bed, recovering from a
pretty nasty accident.”
He whirled around and approached Morgan slowly, dangerously, that left no doubt
what he’d been trained to do: kill. “How did you know that?”
The tall man smirked, seemingly unimpressed. “Oh Sam, how I do love that fire
in your eyes. Let’s just say I have eyes all over this little backwater town.”
“Stay the fuck away from us. Or else.”
“But I can help you, Sam. Give you any supplies you need for your ailing
brother… for one low price.” The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stood on end
with the force of Morgan’s leer.
“You know where to find me!” Morgan called gleefully after Sam’s retreating
form. “If you don’t, your brother will die!”
===============================================================================
 
THE NEXT NIGHT
Sam’s stomach growled loudly, practically echoing throughout the silent room.
How many days had it been since he’d eaten anything other than saltines? And
those had finished yesterday. Fuck, he was feeling nauseous.
He looked up at his brother from his spot on the floor. Dean was so pale, the
sick kind of pale, thinner than when he got here, and still. Alarmingly still.
He hadn’t so much as twitched a finger in three days. He looked like a fucking
corpse.
The silence had become nearly deafening, reverberating throughout the tiny room
so loud it was hard to think, so Sam had taken up talking to Dean’s prone form.
Or, sometimes, himself. It helped him forget how claustrophobic he felt ever
since he’d watched his brother go down under the claws of the werewolf.
“Dean… I’m not gonna lie. You’re not doing so hot. You need help, help that I
can’t give you. There’s… this guy who says he can help you, but he wants me
to—wants me to—but you needme to do this. If I don’t, you’ll… probably fucking
die.”
Sam swallowed the lump in his throat that was suddenly threatening to choke
him. On legs shakier than they should have been, he stood and made his way over
Dean’s side. It was odd; Dean’s face was becoming blurrier and blurrier by the
second. Needing to feel his brother, he ran a thumb over Dean’s sunken-in
cheek.
“If you don’t, your brother will die!”
“I’m sorry, Dean… so sorry. I—I have to do this, you know? And it’s not even
whathe wants me to do, it’s… it’s fucking disgusting, is what it is. I wanted
youto be my first. See? Told you it’d make you want to vomit,” Sam laughed to
himself bitterly. “But, I’d take that if you woke up for me. I’d even take you
yelling and punching me for just thinking about it. Dean?”
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The night was colder than he thought it would be, biting at his exposed ankles
because his jeans were too short. He stuck his hands in his pockets in an
attempt to warm them. He could see his breath, and watched the way it puffed
out before evaporating into the darkness again and again, just for something to
do until Morgan decided to show the hell up.
At 1:35 a.m. a sleek black Lexus pulled up directly in front of the alley Sam
was standing in.
Sam got in without a single word.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Morgan had rented a room in the swankiest, fanciest, most expensive hotel
around; about an hour away from the fleabag motel Sam and Dean were staying at.
The drive there was filled with silence so profound you could probably hear a
pin drop.
The smug little smirk Morgan wore never left, and it made Sam want to punch it
off him. The thought comforted him, and he spent the ride to the hotel
imagining the many, many things he would like to do to a man like Morgan.
Apparently the asshole must have heard Sam’s stomach growling, because before
heading to Morgan’s room they stopped at the hotel restaurant. It was as
opulent as the rest of the place, and each entréeeasily boasted a price tag in
the fifty dollar range.
When Sam refused to order anything, glaring at Morgan as the waiter repeatedly
said “Sir? Sir?” Morgan took the liberty of ordering for him. A fucking filet
mignon. His lips twitched up, giving Sam a look like he should be fucking
grateful.
Sam had no idea he could sink this low. He must have discovered a whole new
level of low at this point. But when the waiter set that warm, juicy,cut of
meat in front of him, he literally could not resist for long. The scent wafted
up his nostrils, invading his senses so that the filet mignon was all he could
see, smell, taste. Sam’s mouth watered and again he was reminded that he hadn’t
had a proper meal in days.
It made him feel sick picking up the fork for the first time. Showing how
desperate he was. After a few bites it didn’t matter anymore.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The door to the hotel room clicked closed. Sam stood there in the middle of the
room, trying to distract himself with dissecting the extravagant décor of golds
and reds. It didn’t work.
“On the bed.”
Every fiber of Sam’s being achedto fight, to scream, to run. To not let himself
be a fucking puppet for this pervert.
But that’s exactly what he did.
“Take off your clothes—slowly.”
The first vestiges of cold dread crept over him. He could feel his cheeks heat
against his will as he pulled his hoodie over his head, then his shirt;
followed by jeans. But his veins felt like ice.
He hesitated at his boxers.
“Off.”
Blinking rapidly and swallowing heavily, Sam complied, pulling them down in one
fell motion to get it over with. Like ripping off a band aid. His heart raced,
spreading the ice faster and faster throughout his body so that he couldn’t
feel anything at all.
And then Morgan was naked.
On top of him.
Reaching for a bottle on the nightstand (lube, a voice in the back of his mind
told him).
Slick fingers inside of him.
Too many.
Something much, much larger, splitting him open.
It burns.
Pain.
Pain pain pain pain pain.
“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah,” Morgans grunts above him. A flash of something silver
and sharp.
Agony.
Red.
Agony.
He thinks he hears screaming (from where? It couldn’t possibly be himself could
it?). But then he can’t hear it anymore he can’t breathe he can’t breathe
So heavy.
Black.
===============================================================================
 
Sam wakes up in the backseat of the Lexus. He can tell immediately by the rusty
stench and the hot stickiness that he’s bleeding. Badly. But not fatally, so
does it really matter?
About ten minutes later the Lexus pulls to a stop. To his surprise the back
door opens; they must be back at the motel? He tries to sit up but Morgan grabs
him by the collar and throws him on the sidewalk. It hurts so bad he knows he’s
most likely crying a little.
“Here’s what we agreed upon. I even gave you a cash bonus because you were such
a good fuck,” Morgan sneered as he threw a medium-size duffel bag at Sam’s
feet.
“Call me if you ever require my servicesagain. You know where to find me… I
have a feeling you won’t be forgetting me anytime soon.”
The squeal of tires and he was gone, but Sam could still hear his laugh.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
It took Sam half an hour to muster the strength just to stand. Another fifteen
minutes to make his way to their room. More time wasted. Who knew how long he’d
been with Morgan. Dean could be dead for all he knew.
But when he stumbled in, keeping along the wall to stay upright, he could see
the shallow rise and fall of Dean’s chest and a weight fell off his shoulders.
He could still make this right. He could still fix what was his fault in the
first place. He could save Dean this time.
It could all be worth it.
Sam unpacked the duffel bag and raced to set up the IV. The second Dean was
crammed full of antibiotics he felt his own eyelids droop. But there was one
more thing he needed to take care of before he could fall into the blissful
abyss of sleep. He glanced at the trail of blood he’d left from the door to
Dean’s bed.
He made his way to the bathroom, where he could fall apart in peace.
===============================================================================
 
“Dean? …Dean? Come on, Dean?”
That was Sam’s voice. It was annoying. He just wanted to sleep. But it was Sam,
so he should probably listen?
“I’m up… I’m up.” Dean rasped. “Why do I smell… old gym socks?”
“Because you stink.”
His eyelids felt like they were weighed down with cement, but he managed to get
them open. He blinked until Sam’s blurry face became clear. He looked tired.
Really, really tired, and really, really thin.
“Hey Sam, what-” Dean tried to sit up and agony wracked his entire body.
“DON’T try to sit up! You’re hurt, okay?” Sam helped ease him back down. “Hold
on, I’ll get you some more pain meds.”
“Where’s dad?” Dean asked while Sam shuffled through an unfamiliar duffel bag.
“He’s on a hunt-”
“What? Where? Who’s on the hunt with him?”
“No one could-”
“You let him go on a hunt alone?” Dean snapped. “I swear, if this is about that
wanting to live a normal life crap—you’re fucking selfish, you know that?”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     So here's the second chapter, over two weeks late. Sorry. :P
     Thank you anyone and everyone who has read this story, kudos-ed, and
     commented! XD
     This chapter is entirely from Dean's point of view. Unfortunately, I
     don't think it's as good... DX
SIX MONTHS LATER
“Dad, hold on, I can’t hear you—you want us to meet you where? Ohio? Where
in—that town again? Come on, it’s in the middle of nowhere! Fine, fine. See ya
in a couple days.”
Dean sighed and glanced at his little brother sleeping in the passenger seat.
His head lolled towards Dean’s shoulder; a little bit of drool visible on the
corner of his mouth. It was adorable. He had half a mind to stick his finger in
Sam’s ear, but he didn’t have the heart to wake him. Sam hadn’t been sleeping
well lately, tossing and turning in his sleep (when he could get it) and up
until all hours of the morning.
He switched the radio to a soft rock station and smiled when Sam’s head fell
onto his shoulder.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
He’d just pulled into the parking lot of a motel that seemed good enough to
stay a couple days in, when Sam stirred and peered up at him with sleepy eyes.
Dean had to take a moment to stamp down… somethinghe should decidedly notbe
feeling.
“Where are we?” Sam murmured, rubbing at his eyes like he used to as a child.
His hazel eyes took in the parking lot, but it could have been any parking lot
of any hotel in America for all he knew.
A tall, muscled, sixteen year old boy should not look this cute.
“We’re in Bumfuck, Ohio, man, waiting on Dad-”
Sam froze in the middle of reaching for the door handle, suddenly wide awake.
“You—you don’t mean that s-same town in O-Ohio from s-six months ago, r-right?”
“Um, yeah… Sam, what’s wrong?” Sam was impossibly still. Dean didn’t think he
was even breathing. “Sam?”
Hazel eyes slowly focused on him, peering up at him with an anxious edge.
Scared. “W-we were just here. Six months ago. Why are we here? W-why?’
Now Dean was starting to get scared too. He didn’t like the way Sam’s breaths
were coming in short erratic gasps. “Hey, you need to calm down. Deep breaths.
What’s wrong?”
“Why are we here?” Sam repeated, voice shaking so bad he could hardly get the
words out.
“We’re meeting dad here in a day or two. He finished the hunt and needs more
medical supplies-”
“I need to go to the rest room,” Sam mumbled before taking off faster than Dean
thought possible in his nervous state.
Six months ago, he would have followed Sammy without hesitation and demanded
answers until he got them. And he would have. He knew exactly how to make his
brother talk, and wantto talk. Usually, all it took was concern, a little
nudge, and a touch. Six months ago, he would have known, instinctively, what
his brother was thinking or feeling.
But not now. Now, he has no fucking clue what’s going through that geek brain
of Sam’s. And he doesn’t like it one bit.
He remembers the date (March 16) because it was the last time Sam touched him.
Really touched him. He remembers Sam cleaning his wounds with a gentle touch,
and running his fingers feather-light through his hair when he thought Dean was
asleep.
All that just… stopped, after that night. Sam all but refused to touch him, or
anyone, any more than strictly necessary. These days he kept to himself and
locked himself in whatever room or space was designated as his.
He would never admit it out loud, but he misses his little brother. His real
little brother. His talkative, bright, pure, kind, cute, clingy little
brother.  Not this sullen, reserved, emo kid.
Jesus, am I really whining and moaning over the fact that my little brother
isn’t paying enough attention to me? Seriously?
===============================================================================
 
The motel they were staying in turned out to be the same one he and Sam had
stayed at the last time they were in town. He knew because he saw Sam’s flinch
as they entered the place.  The only room available was even one with a king
bed instead of two twins. Just to make the whole situation even more
uncomfortable, obviously.
“Soooo…” Dean started, setting his duffle down on the floor of their room while
Sam did the same, “since we have nothing to do but wait for once, did you want
to look around the town at all? Maybe see if they have a used book store you
can geek out over?”
“No thanks. I just want to stay here until Dad comes to get us.”
“Um, okay,” Dean muttered, running his hand through his hair in frustration.
Since when had it become so hard to talk to Sam?
He found that the hotel had a selection of movies you could order on the
television, and he picked Raider of the Lost Ark. Because, awesome. And he
didn’t want to leave Sam here alone to brood, or whatever.
Slowly but surely, the movie seemed to capture Sam’s interest. He had been
sitting in the lone chair in the room, but he tentatively made his way to the
bed for a better view of the screen. Dean pretended not to notice the way he
inched closer and closer every few minutes.
By the end of the movie Sam’s head rested on Dean’s chest, snoring softly as he
slept.
Dean simply pulled the covers over them and pulled Sam even closer, relishing
in the warmth he’d been missing for so long.
===============================================================================
 
He woke up cold and alone. There was shuffling coming from the bathroom, so he
didn’t have to guess or panic about where his little brother was. Blinking open
bleary eyes and moving at a pace a snail would call slow, he made his way to
the bathroom. He needed to piss.
Dean rapped on the door. “Sam, open up, I need to piss.”
“Gimme a minute.”
“But Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam,” Dean whined.
“Hold on!”
Dean waited approximately ten more seconds before thinking ‘fuck it’and opening
the door.
“What the fuckDean,” Sam screeched, racing to pull his pants on. “GET OUT!” He
was still dripping wet from his shower and Dean had to swallow heavily several
times, mouth suddenly dry as fucking Death Valley at high noon.
“I had to take a piss,” Dean said lamely. He tried to force his eyes away, to
look at something else, anything else, but they seemed to be glued to the drops
of water running down Sam’s toned abs. Fuck.
“You couldn’t wait one fucking minute?” Sam snapped. He picked up a towel to
dry his hair with more force than necessary.
“Your concept of ‘one minute’ differs greatly from mine.”
Sam rolled his eyes before stretching to grab another towel from the cabinet
above the sink, his jeans falling lower on his hips. A darker, rougher patch of
skin was revealed on Sam’s left hip bone. It almost looked like a scar of some
sort… but that couldn’t be right. Sam had never been injured there. Dean
remembered every cut, scrape, bruise, hang nail, and broken bone Sam had ever
sustained, probably better than Sam did. He could recall every time he failed
to protect his brother with startling clarity.
“What’s that?” Dean asked, voice dropping low, pointing to Sam’s hip.
Sam straightened and backed away like he’d been burned. “It’s nothing,” he
hissed, and stalked out of the room like it was on fire.
They spent the rest of the day in complete silence.
===============================================================================
 
The next afternoon Dean’s cell phone rang, nearly making him fall off the bed
in surprise. He scrambled to find the damn thing, sleep-addled from taking a
nap.
“Hey, Dad,” he flipped open the phone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam
look his way for the first time since the bathroom incident. It was something,
at least.
“I’ll be there around six o’ clock tonight. Don’t go anywhere. Oh, and the hunt
was a cinch.”
“Yes sir. Glad to hear it. See you—click—later.”
“What did Dad say?” Sam asked quietly from the chair, avoiding looking Dean in
the eyes (as had become his habit).
“He’ll be here at six.”
“Good. Hopefully we can get out of this fucking town for good.”
True to his word, John arrived at the motel five minutes before the motel clock
ticked six. “Hey boys,” John greeted them with a smile. The hunt really must
have gone well.
“Hey Dad,” Dean smiled back, his father’s smile contagious. He was just happy
to see John happy for once.
“Hi Dad,” Sam threw him a tight smile, then went back to staring at the parking
lot outside the window. He ignored the puzzled look on John’s face, who was
used to being greeted with more enthusiasm from his youngest son when he
returned from a hunt.
“Are we going to be staying here tonight or are we taking off now?” Dean asked
for his brother. He knew Sam was anxious about staying in this town for some
strange reason.
“We’ll leave in the morning. My contact is meeting me here in a little bit to
sell me some medical supplies.”
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Their father answered the door when three consecutive knocks filled the silent
room.
“Morgan. Just let me grab my first aid kit and we can get this moving,” John
shook his hand before heading out into the parking lot.
Dean scowled when he saw the tall middle-aged man being led in. he hated that
fucker more than just about anything—more than witches, more than a diner
without beer orpie.
Dean? That you? What’s a fourteen year old doing out here so late at night?”
Dean looked up to see the guy he’d met that afternoon who sold his Dad medical
supplies or something.
“What’s a middle-aged mandoing out here so late at night?” Dean retorted.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Morgan said with a small smile and went to stand next to Dean
against the cool brick of the gas station. Close enough the lengths of their
bodies touched. Dean didn’t know why, but his skin crawled the moment they made
contact. He took a subtle step away from Morgan.
“Same, I guess.” Sam had wanted Dadto help him with his homework that night.
Dean hadn’t felt needed, and that pissed him off.
“Did you want to play at the arcade? Is that why you’re out here?” Morgan
asked, obviously noticing Dean staring at the arcade across the street.
Dean simply shrugged, not feeling the need to explain himself to one of his
Dad’s weird friends.
“Did you need some cash?” Morgan persisted.
Against his better judgement, Dean’s ears perked up. “What are we talking?”
“One gig. One night. Hundreds of dollars. It’ll hardly cost you anything at
all.”
Dean felt a warm, sweaty hand caress his thigh through rough denim, slowly
making its way to palm the front of his jeans. In the next instant Morgan was
shoved roughly against the wall, head making an audible crack as it bounced
against the brick. The blade of a knife sharp biting against his throat.
“I don’t want any part in your sick, twisted, disgusting games, you fucking
pervert. Come near me, or God forbid, my brother, ever again and I will fucking
killyou.” Dean snarled, pressing the knife in deeper until a trickle of blood
spilled onto the back of his hand.
“I don’t know, that brother of yours… he’ll be quite fuckable in a few years, I
can tell.” Morgan sneered.
Dean pulled his fist back and punched Morgan in the face fast as lightning,
knocking out a few teeth. He didn’t even feel bad about shoving his head into
the wall again for good measure, knocking him out.
“Hey Dean, can you give me a hand?” John called from the parking lot.
“But Dad—“ He looked at his brother, frozen by the window like a deer caught in
the headlights.
“Now, Dean!”
Dean shot Morgan a threatening glare that promised blood before following his
father. “What?”
“Help me find the first aid kit so I can see what supplies I’m low on.”
He dug through the trunk of the Impala, careful not to let his father see him
roll his eyes, as fast as physically possible, eager to get back to Sam. His
eyes barely passed over the clutter in the trunk, moving on auto pilot. A
weird, tight feeling in his gut was making itself veryapparent and his heart
raced for what should be no reason.
“Aha! Found it!” John held the white case up triumphantly. This time Dean
couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He practically ran back to the room in his
haste to see his brother.
“Tell me, did you miss me, Sam?” Dean heard Morgan whisper as he leaned in
close to Sam’s ear. A hand caressed Sam’s thigh while he licked a trail up
Sam’s neck. Sam trembled visibly, obviously too scared to even move an inch.
Morgan must be a witch. That was the only plausible explanation why Dean
couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.  He could only stand there and watch,
screaming inside his head because he couldn’t lift a finger.
No.
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO  NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
“I found it, Morgan,” John walked into the room, past Dean’s frozen stiff form,
breaking the spell.
Morgan took several quick steps back before he was in John’s field of vision.
He spared Sam one last lecherous glance before following John back out the door
so they could conduct their business. Dean thought he saw him wink when the
pervert passed by him. 
He had a brief thought that he should warn his father about that man, that he
was a goddamn witch that needed to be hunted, that the next hunt was right in
front of their eyes.His stomach rebelled before he could think about it
clearly, barely making it to the toilet in time.
The contents of his stomach came back up, violently. Tears fell from the
corners of his eyes, body shaking with the force of it.
Sam—his Sammy had—with Morgan—purge
Morgan had—to his Sammy—done thatto him—purge
Hurt him—purge
Oh God, Sammy—purge
No, no, no, not Sammy—purge
Why Sammy—purge
Dean was pretty sure he threw up everything he ate in the past fucking week.
When he thought he was done (for the moment at least) his body slid to the
floor, boneless. He couldn’t think. Maybe his brain was somewhere in that
toilet along with his stomach.
 He just lay there. Not thinking. Even breathing made him nauseous.
A knock at the door made him reluctantly crack an eye open. “Dean?” Sam’s
tentative voice reached easily through the old wood. He tried to turn the knob
when he got no response. “Dean. Why is the door locked? Dean! What’s wrong?
Answer me!”
He didn’t have the energy.
“Dean! You’ve been in there for hours!”
Huh. When did that happen?
“I willpick the lock if you don’t come out right the fuck now,” Sam threatened.
“I’m serious!”
Well, Sam was going to have to follow through on his threat, because his body
wouldn’t listen to him at the moment. Morgan’s spell must have affected him
more than he thought.
The soft clicks of a lock being picked.
“Dean?” Sam whispered, and when Dean opened his eyes Sam was kneeling in front
of him. “What’s going on? Talk to me.” He spoke as if he was talking to a
frightened animal. “Are you hurt?”
Something inside Dean snapped.
“Hurt? You’re the one who…”
“Who what, Dean? What did I do thistime?”
“He hurt you!” Dean roared, suddenly finding the strength to stand, even if his
legs were still a little shaky. “Morgan hurt you, and you didn’t say a damn
word about it. Why didn’t you say anything, Sammy? Why didn’t you say anything?
Why…why did you…”
“So you… saw that, huh?” Sam mumbled, looking down at the tiled floor like it
held the secrets of the universe.
“Oh, I fucking saw it. I just couldn’t make any kind of senseofit.”
“Dean, you don’t understand. I—I hadto! I didn’t have any choice!”
“Did that pervert force you, Sam? He did, didn’t he?” Dean’s voice dropped low,
almost a growl.
Sam was still on his knees on the floor, looking at anything but his brother.
His silence told Dean all he needed to know.
Dean stomped out of the room. Sam followed on his heels. He grabbed Dean’s
sleeve and spun him around, tears falling freely.
“He paidme, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That your little brother
whores himself out when he needs fast cash?”
And then it clicked. He’d been injured pretty bad six months ago; Sam left to
care for him, alone. He didn’t remember seeing their fake insurance card or
fake prescriptions for the heavy-duty antibiotics that he’d needed after his
wound had gotten infected (or so Sam had told him; it was all pretty hazy).
There had even been a shiny new IV bag to administer them. They didn’t have
that kind of crap in their duffels. How had Sam managed to snag all that stuff?
His saint of a little brother would never stoop to stealing it, certainly.
So of courseSam would sell himself. That was the only logical explanation.
Right. He couldn’t let his big brother die, even though Dean’s life wasn’t
fucking worth it. He wasn’t worth it, and now Sam was paying the price because
he was stupid enough to get injured on a hunt—
“It’s my fault,” Dean breathed.
“No. No, you’re not going to do this,” Sam shook his head. “You’re not going to
put this on yourself. I made the choice because I had to save you, and I don’t
regret it one bit. I’d do it again—where are you going? Dean! NO! NO!”
Sam tried to pull Dean back but his brother just shook him off like it was
nothing.
The Impala rumbled briefly before taking off into the night.
===============================================================================
 
He knew where Morgan would be staying. A pompous asshole like that, he would
want nothing better than the best of the best. The closest four-star hotel was
an hour away so he drove the Impala as fast as she could go in that direction.
With a little distraction, he was able to sneak behind the front desk and
search their computer for Morgan’s room number. He found the room, 419, easily
enough, and picked the lock in no time at all. The front room was empty when he
walked in. A cloud of steam emitted from the open bathroom door, shower running
noisily.
Dean silently strode into the bathroom without a second thought. He moved with
the efficiency of a hunter stalking its prey.
The hunter pulled back the shower curtain and dragged its prey out kicking and
screaming. Screaming perfectly, until he put his hands around Morgan’s throat.
Just before it got to the point where Morgan was about to die, he let go. Gave
him a second to breathe. Then punched him. Again. Again. And again. Feeling
bones crack and shatter against his fist gave him a rush.
“Remember what I told you, Morgan? I fucking warnedyou
not—punch—to—punch—go—punch—near—punch-my—punch-brother.I toldyou that I’d
killyou.”
Morgan was begging. Pleading. Crying.
It was all music to Dean’s ears.
He brought out the knife strapped to his belt and grinned at the terrified
expression on Morgan’s face.
“Tell me, Morgan, was Sam scaredtoo when you did thatto him?”
===============================================================================
 
“Dean? Where were you? You know you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on your
brother when I’m not around.” John eyed his son suspiciously when he returned
to the motel at two in the morning. He didn’t appear drunk at least, so he
hadn’t been at a bar.
Dean strode towards his father leaning against the door to their room,
whistling a familiar Led Zeppelin song. “Just taking care of business.”
“Holy shit, is that… blood? Dean, are you hurt?” John frantically checked Dean
over for injures after seeing a streak of red on his jacket.
“It’s not mine, Dad. I’m fine.”
John paused, weighing Dean’s words and eyes that seemed a little too bright.
“What did you do?”
“I hunted a monster. It’s what we do, right?”
“Answer me. Now.”
And Dean told him.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
“Dean? Where’d you go? Where’s Dad? What happened? Are you okay—is that blood?
Oh my god, you’re hurt—“
Dean put a finger to Sam’s lips, shushing him. “Sam, slow down. I can barely
keep up with you when you talk that fast. Dad got another room for himself. No,
I’m not hurt. It’s not my blood. I just took care of some business, okay?” He
palmed his little brother’s cheek when he noticed how worried he was.
Sam leaned into the touch. “I’m sorry about the things I said before. Can we
just forget about it? Please?”
“Yeah, okay. But only because heis never going to bother you again. Ever. Trust
me.” Dean let his body move on its own, because if he thought about it he knew
he wouldn’t have the courage to lean in those few inches and kiss his little
brother.
===============================================================================
 
“Call it.”
Nurse Jenna nodded. “Time of death, 3:07 a.m.”
A sheet was pulled over John’s Doe’s battered, bruised, lacerated body.
 
***** Epilogue *****
Chapter Notes
     Here's the epilogue to tie it all up. That one scene in the first
     chapter will finally make sense, I hope.
     Once again, thank you!
Dean kissed a trail down Sam’s chest, worshipping every bit of exposed skin.
His little brother’s body was blushing a lovely pink. It tasted just as sweet
as he’d imagined.
When Sam arched his back as Dean swirled his tongue around a nipple, he took
the opportunity to swiftly remove Sam’s sleep pants, oblivious to the startled
gasp and stuttered “D-Dean, wait!”
His trail of kisses drew lower and lower, reaching Sam’s groin area that he
fully intended to worship properly, and paused. Not believing what he was
seeing, because it couldn’t possiblybe real. It was too cruel. No onewas that
heartless.
On Sam’s inner thigh two letters were carefully inscribed into Sam’s skin,
probably by a very fine, very sharp tool like a scalpel: M. H.
Morgan Hilcox.
Already knowing what he would find, Dean slowly turned to look at Sam’s left
hip bone. Another pair of initials, these ones larger and rougher; not quite as
well healed.
Several moments pass in tense silence before Dean’s sure he’s not about to
retch all over the bed. A vast, icy anger spreads through his veins, taking the
place of the shocked numbness from before.
“I’m going to kill him all over again,” Dean grits out, nostrils flaring,
barely breathing. He can barely contain the anger inside. It’s so boundless, so
limitless, that it’s trying to escape.
Hands shaking, Sam grabs for his pants. Bangs cover his face so that Dean can’t
see it, but he knows Sam’s crying by his trembling shoulders. And just like
that, the ice in his veins thaws. He still wants to kill Morgan with his bare
hands over and over again, but he knows what reallymatters here. Sam.
“Sammy, come back here, shhhh. It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I could never be
mad at you.” Dean pulls Sam into his arms before he can leave and he’s sobbing
into his neck, clinging like he’s never going to let go. Dean doesn’t want him
to. “Baby Boy. I love you. Shhh.”
And then he kisses every scar with tenderness.
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